


Return of the Drunk Jenga Tower King

by SoDoLaFaMiDoRe



Series: Millennial Goes Medieval [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, But pretty much Jaskier is a regular modern dude transported to the Witcher world, M/M, Modern!Jaskier, This AU will make more sense as more works are added, drinking contests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe/pseuds/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe
Summary: What's a millennial musician to do when trapped in some weird, never-ending LARP? Why, have a drinking contest!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Millennial Goes Medieval [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686274
Comments: 15
Kudos: 161





	Return of the Drunk Jenga Tower King

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas polished-jade and @bardlygo! This wouldn't be half the fic it is without them!
> 
> Some quick notes! One of my special interests is Medieval History, so I'll be attempting to explain some things we modern folk find confusing or have the wrong idea of through this fic series! The relationship will develop over the course of the series, and Jaskier is a just a poor confused bartender/musician suddenly in way over his head.
> 
> With that, please enjoy!

“Jaskier“ had been travelling with Geralt for the past week, and holy shitballs this guy was intense. Day one, he learned it wasn’t just some incredibly insane Renaissance Festival he had stumbled into, and his days had only gotten progressively weirder. Even if his travelling companion was easy on the eyes, Jaskier was relieved to come across an inn. The hard bread and dried meat for lunch did little to sate his hunger, and all he wanted was a shower. Or a bath, just something to get the grit of the road off.

“Two ales, Two meat pies.” Geralt had grumbled, in his usually stoic and intense way. Jaskier was just glad for some real food as they bundled themselves into a corner. A surly maid with pock-marked skin dropped two enormous mugs in front of them. As soon as Jaskier took his first sip, his eyebrows raised. It was alcohol, yes, but it held no candle to the hard liquors he was used to. He skulled it back, eager to quench his thirst. Geralt just looked at him over his food as Jaskier set the empty tankard down. His expression was inscrutable as usual.

“You’re going to make yourself sick drinking like that.”

The concern would have been endearing had Jaskieir not picked up on the undercurrent of shock in the Witcher’s voice. Very faint, yes, but it was  _ there _ . Geralt may have taken on the role of a monster hunter, but Jaskier  _ knew  _ he had yet to face the monster of Drunk Jenga at the local Community College. A plan began to take shape in Julian’s mind. Oh, it was a stupid and half-baked plan, but in a world sorely lacking in more modern comforts, he had the feeling the results would be more entertaining than any late night of gaming.

“Oh yeah? I bet I can drink more than you, Mr. Tight Pants.” Geralt looked incredulous at that, but to Jaskier’s delight, he chugged his ale and slammed down the empty tankard with a hard stare in his eyes. A few coins to the barmaid would help keep the ale flowing, and thus the battle began. At first, they were evenly matched in their drinking. Geralt was far stockier than Jaskier, and could handle his alcohol. Jaskier, on the other hand, had pickled his liver in Four Loko, taken on and defeated several Centurion Challenges, and earned the crown and royal title of Strip Twister King. He would not go down without a fight.

After the fifth pint, the other patrons of the tavern were enthralled, watching these two strangers chug their way through their liquor stores. Jaskier’s stomach was starting to hurt from the sheer volume of liquid he drank, but he was no quitter. Geralt seemed just as resolved, not a hair out of place.

_ He really was handsome. _ Jaskier had partners before, but before he’d come here he’d been in a bit of a dry spell due to his work schedule. Besides, people on Tinder just weren’t very appreciative of his musical talent. (Or his other talents, to be frank.) The thought of his music led a question to spill from Jaskier’s lips - one he usually asked someone he was interested in at parties, just to get to know them better. 

“What’s your favorite musical instrument?” He asked. He had no idea what they used in this fantasy-land, but he was sure they had a guitar or something close enough.

Geralt stared at him for a moment, weighing the question. “I don’t listen to music.”

“If you had to pick one!”

“The lute.” Geralt finished his mug, and Jaskier noticed the sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. Oh, he definitely wasn’t as stoic as he made himself out to be with this much liquor in his veins.

“Come on pretty boy! I’m not anywhere close to drunk!” Jaskier jeered. Oh, bloated with water and feeling a bit sick from it, yes, but drunk? Hell no. Geralt’s eyes widened at the clarity in Jaskier’s voice, realizing the alcohol hadn’t hit him at all. That made the fish out of water smirk, finishing off his sixth pint of ale. The crowd let out a cheer at that, and the surly maid looked a little shocked as she sat their seventh pints on the table. A closer look at his companion showed he was green around the gills, and Jaskier would feel bad if he wasn’t having So. Much. Fun.

Might as well see if he could ply more information from a guy who’s native tongue seemed to be grunting.

“So what’s the worst monster you faced?”

“Vilgefortz.”

“Why?” Jaskier wanted to ask what a Vilgefortz was, but he had a feeling that was common knowledge he would need to glean without asking directly, like so many other fairytale monsters come to life here. Everyone knew, and he only had half-remembered Disney movies and a couple of story-times from kindergarten to go off of.

Geralt studied him for a moment, and oh Jaskier was really starting to like those unnaturally yellow eyes. They were so pretty, glinting in the candlelight. The moment dragged, gazes locked, before Geralt looked away. The question went unanswered, and a specific taunt from the crowd had them back to drinking. At this point, even the owner was impressed, breaking out a bottle of amber liquid that Jaskier had a feeling couldn’t beat Fireball.

Two smaller wooden cups were set in front of them, and Jaskier tipped his for a clink before he drank. Sure, it warmed the throat going down, but Julian had faced stronger. Geralt, for the first time since they met, looked somewhat unsure as Jaskier smoothly poured their next shot. Jaskier smiled his most charming grin, one that had earned him the good tips at the bar, as he readied himself.

Down the hatch it went, and Jaskier noticed Geralt was taking this shot slower. Geralt was one of few words, but by the way his brows knit and his eyes followed Jaskier as he grabbed the bottle for the next pour, Jaskier could tell he was definitely feeling it. Jaskier’s grin grew shit-eating at that, as he turned to silently toast the crowd. Someone threw a coin at him, and he caught it deftly to a rousing cheer.

By the fifth shot, all of the alcohol in his system was making itself known. His face was flushing, and his weird clothes felt restricting as he readied himself for the shot. Geralt was faring no better, eyes beginning to unfocus somewhat. Normally this was the point in the night where Jaskier would know who he was going home with, but he wasn’t sure what the equivalent of Uber was here. Or, if anyone was willing.

The sixth shot finally made his stomach turn, but he was Julian Alfred Pankratz. He held the record for tallest Drunk Jenga tower, and he was not going to yeet his stomach contents in front of peasants. He put on a brave face, the same one he pulled when he had to do a Cement Mixer as a hazing ritual for the theater club. “Ready for this?”

Geralt didn’t respond, hand shaking as he warily raised the glass to his lips. Oh he made such a  _ picture _ , piss drunk and showing more emotion in one shot than he probably did in a month. Geralt looked as if he’d rather face that Vilgefortz he mentioned, but he still drank. With that, Jaskier knew he had to answer the call of nature.

“Alright, that should be enough to take five. I gotta take a leak.” Jaskier announced, loud enough for the crowd to hear. He stood, barely even wobbling, and the crowd grew louder at how he seemed completely unaffected. Geralt stared at him in shock, and followed his lead to stand. Oh no.  _ Oh no. _

When the mountain of a man went to stand, the more apt comparison would be a tree. A tree that had been chainsawed at the base, as Geralt’s eyes rolled in the back of his head. He ragdolled, collapsing to the floor like the final moments of the tower in Drunk Jenga, and all went dead quiet. 

Then, the crowd cheered.

And that’s how Julian began to settle a little more into being Jaskier.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment!


End file.
